Eyes wide, cheek still dripping from the passing Mina-chan's saliva, Salieri can only stare in numb, bewildered shock as his reality takes yet another turn for the surreal.
"You see, maestro," Franz Liszt chuckles, shaking his head as he sips a glass of wine. "Often the purest and most unrestrained magnificence can only be found in the absurd. Wasn't that cool? She wasn't bad looking, either."
"Eh? EH?" grunts Ludwig van Beethoven, hand to his ear, looking up from spooning sauerkraut on his knockwurst. The three of them are on a picnic. "Oh, ja, ja, Tony. She vas a real tomato. Go und get you zome!"
Salieri grips the sides of his wheelchair, his eyes immense. He pushes himself to his feet, gritting his teeth and emitting a bellowing roar. Standing, now, on his own two feet. His voice is shaky, uncertain, vocal cords that have not stirred for decades at last vibrating to life. "At last... at last! I understand what Mozart was listening to! I KNOW what he was trying to say! HA HA HA HA HA HA!" His youth restored to him, the world brilliant and alive once again, he stares at his hands, once more smooth and unlined, then up at the magnificent tableaux around him, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace it all. "Life! Behold life in all it's glory! Living and dying and blooming and grasping for joy! HA HA HA HA!"
Liszt raises an eyebrow.
Beethoven swallows a mouthful of his meal. "I sink Herr Kapellmeister's been shtealing your opium again, Franz."
Salieri spins on them, once again a strapping youth, eager to embrace the world around him and laugh at those who get in his way. The sun lights him from behind, bathing him in a heavenly corona. "See you later, fellows! I've got to dash. I'm going to go after her! Maybe I can get her to LICK ME AGAIN!" He spins around and takes off at a run, heading after Minako as he whoops and shouts in exultation.
And is then crushed flat by a falling cow, since Aino Minako is cursed to forever be single.
"Okay, just who didn't see ZAT comingk?" Beethoven grunts, taking another bite of sausage.
"Ah, chaos," sighs Liszt. "Glorious chaos."